


Instinct Blues No. 2

by Lake (beyond_belief)



Series: covert and clandestine [3]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Professions, Alternate Universe, Assassins, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-29
Updated: 2010-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:28:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyond_belief/pseuds/Lake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lead-in to the Libyan double job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Instinct Blues No. 2

"You feeding me brown rice and steamed vegetables?" Shawn asks, and tucks the cigarette between his lips. He snaps the lighter. "Tofu?"

An ashtray slides onto the patio table next to his elbow. "Those things will kill you, Pappy."

"Tofu and vegetables?" Shawn glances over his shoulder at Rudy, who's shaking his head in the sliding-screen doorway. He takes a long drag on his cigarette. Rudy flashes him a grin. "Think I'm likely to die of other causes first," Shawn says.

"Finish your smoke and come eat."

Shawn swings his feet down off the opposite chair, takes another two drags, then stubs out the cigarette as he stands up. He follows Rudy into the house, closing the screen behind them.

*

Shawn knows something must be off when he walks into the briefing room on Thursday morning to find Fick in uniform, looking more hollow-eyed than usual. Fick is rarely in uniform; on almost any given day he's wearing the same t-shirt, cargo pants and duty weapon ensemble as the rest of them.

Brad is sitting across the table from him, his glare directed downward at a stack of intelligence reports. Ray is nowhere to be seen, and Rudy is two steps behind Shawn.

"Could you get the lights, please, Rudy?" Fick asks. Shawn slides into his seat as the room goes dark. Above their heads, the projector whizzes to life and an image appears on the blank wall. Shawn recognizes the figure as his last target.

"Alain Laurent," Fick confirms. "When we cleared his office, we found documentation indicating the financial connections to al-Awlaki are even more serious than we originally feared."

The slide changes to Anwar al-Awlaki, and then to a bank transfer confirmation. Fick continues. "Documents section has verified the paperwork. The trace leads back to this man." The slide changes again, to show a passport photo. "Yemeni national Abdul al-Sagar. Up until three months ago, he was the manager at the bank where the transfer originated. Then he disappeared."

The projector clicks and the next slide comes into focus. It's a grainy surveillance still of a man who appears to be al-Sagar, entering a hotel with several other men in traditional Muslim dress. "This was taken from a security camera sixteen hours ago in Tripoli. We have unconfirmed reports that there are a series of meetings taking place there between al-Sagar and several mid-to-high-level al-Queda leaders, possibly including al-Awlaki and Gadahn."

"Any reason we can't just bomb the shit out of Tripoli?" Brad asks.

"Why would we bomb a whole city when I can send you gentlemen to kill these guys in their sleep?"

Shawn knows that tone of voice. It's the one Fick uses when he's not entirely convinced of the success of the mission, but he's going do his best to psych himself – and them - up for it. Fick stands up in the dim light from the projector and reaches to flip on the overheads. "Pappy, Rudy, your transport leaves in forty-five minutes. Brad, you and I will be on one an hour after that."

Shock is palpable in the room. However much Fick dislikes sending them on missions he wouldn't volunteer for himself, he's hardly ever allowed to go. Fick's eyes widen slightly, and then the corner of his mouth twitches. "Been a while since they let me out into the field," he allows. "Ray's got your tech gear, so get to it. Brad, I'll find you as soon as I meet with Mattis and change out of the uniform. You're all dismissed."

Ray fist-bumps for good luck, then outfits them with tiny, wireless pin-on mics and snug-fitting earpieces. They're easily covered by the watch caps that Shawn and Rudy pull on as they run to the waiting transport plane. "Got maps?" Shawn asks once they're strapped in.

Rudy pulls them from his pack.


End file.
